


Of Scamanders and Salamanders

by VennSync



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - Fandom, Frozen - Fandom, Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Gen, In this universe Newt just saves creatures and doesn't bother with politics, Newt does his job, Not Canon Compliant i.e. Grindlewald nonsense, The character death isn't graphic and happened a century before this story takes place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VennSync/pseuds/VennSync
Summary: When every light goes out in Diagon Alley, Newt is determined to find the source and set things right. But he never guessed doing so would lead him directly into the world of spirits. Based on a prompt from @justlookatthosesausages on Tumblr.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Of Scamanders and Salamanders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@justlookatthosesausages](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40justlookatthosesausages).



Newt wasn’t good at people.

When people were running away from something while screaming, it was supposed to be a good idea to join them or at least get to shelter to assess the situation. People generally didn’t grab their briefcase full of magical creatures and run directly toward the source of others’ horror. Well, except for Gryffindors, but that was to be expected. As Newt was not a Gryffindor, he was supposed to be cautious, patient, loyal. He was supposed to follow the crowd.

Sod that, there was something in pain that needed help.

In his experience, things that made wizards panic were often tall and grotesque, perhaps slimy or covered in spikes. No less loveable for that, though most would disagree. But when he skidded around the turn in the alley to face the threat, he saw none of that. Instead he was bumped and shoved by people who appeared to be running away from a curtain of darkness. Purple flame leapt from torch to torch, growing and swirling with each jump. With a soft woosh the darkness fell over Newt as well, and he readied himself for boils or burns or some ill affect from the shadow. He held his breath.

Nothing. It was just ordinary darkness, brought about by all the enchanted flame in the Alley being sucked away by the purple fire. Newt blinked a few times to clear his vision and turned to follow the flames, figuring that whatever was at its source was probably hurt or confused. This screamed magical creature, or possibly cursed item, or accidental magic veering wildly out of control.

He was not shocked to find himself scrambling down Knockturn Alley, where even the Wizarding World’s toughest were huddled indoors panicking. The fire swirled around in front of Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary’s door before vanishing through the wood with a tiny pop! And that was it. No more fire, but no more light either. Newt whispered “Lumos” and let the tiny ball of pure light float ahead of him, so he could avoid tripping on the uneven pavement. There was no telling what was inside that shop, so he switched his briefcase to “emergency” mode and prepared to wrangle … what? Perhaps a baby dragon, or maybe it was a cursed object and he was wasting his time. Then again, Potions ingredients. Perhaps Mr. Mulpepper had thought to get a discount by doing his own butchering and bit off more than he could chew.

Taking a deep breath, Newt plunged into the shop. At first he didn’t see anything out of place, just racks upon racks of tidy Potions ingredients (many of them bits of rare Magical creatures), but by ducking through those he found himself face-to-face with a badly cast containment spell. It sparkled and sputtered, rotating above the counter slowly, and it was full of purple fire. The fire pulsed and writhed inside the ball, and the magic strained under the effort of containment. “Gather all the fire inside to break it and escape, clever thing,” Newt murmured, reaching into his briefcase for his fireproof elbow-length gloves, charmed to resist even the hottest dragonfire. He cast a protective charm on his face and clothes, the motion and spell so familiar that he didn’t even need to incant it. “Right, um,” He called into the shop, “Hello? Mr. Mulpepper?”

A wand appeared aimed at his nose, and Newt blinked. “I don’t want any Ministry shenanigans, not in this shop! All my goods are permitted, you weasels can’t find a damn thing out of place in all your inspections.”

“Mr. Mulpepper, I presume,” Newt said with a slightly off focus smile. He raised both hands to show his lack of wand and badge. “I’m not with the Ministry, sir, in fact I think they probably want me dead.”

Slowly the wand came down. “That’s all right then.” Mr. Mulpepper was an older gentleman with a distinctly bachelor air, robes disheveled and stained with potions and hair a shade too long to be fashionable and not holding any distinct style. “If you’re a customer,” he said gruffly, narrowing his eyes and stashing his wand in a pocket, “Grab what you want and I’ll ring you up.”

“I couldn’t help but notice… that.” Newt said, gesturing toward the ball of fire.

“Not for sale.” Mr. Mulpepper didn’t even look up, busying himself by dusting off immaculate jars of boomslang skin.

“Can you at least tell me what it is? Purple fire is unusual even for a salamander.” A wild guess, but at the way Mulpepper’s shoulders jerked Newt knew he wasn’t too far off the mark.

“It is a salamander, fair guess, lad.” Mulpepper turned around and went behind the counter, pointing his wand at the containment spell and adding a layer with a muttered incantation. “This is a breed I’ve not seen before, went to chop off its tail and it damn near blinded me with fire. Right bit smarter than average, I’ll give it that.” He set his jaw and added, “And I got it legally, from a trader who came across from Scandinavia.”

“I’ve no doubt it’s legal, sir, but it does seem to have caused a bit of trouble outside.”

“What’re you on about?”

“It sort of… absorbed all the fire from Diagon Alley and here. There’s no light at all.”

“Salamanders can’t do that.”

Newt sighed. “Well, this one did. Tell you what. Name your price and I’ll buy it. That’ll get it off your hands and when the Ministry does come knocking trying to find the source of the Put-Outing, you can say with clear conscience that nothing in your shop caused it.”

Mulpepper clicked his tongue and thought about it. “Fine, then, whelp. If you’ve a thousand Galleons it’s yours.” Newt blanched. A thousand? That was enough to buy a building! “Don’t give me that look, mister, I paid seven hundred for it and I won’t go a Sickle lower.”

“I suppose there’s nothing for it, then.” Newt sighed, clicking his briefcase over to “vault” and opening it. “This is a direct line to my Gringotts vault.” Not usual, but old families got exceptions made all the time. He pointed his wand at the opening and summoned one thousand Galleons, tied in a pouch that lightened the load and marked the outside with the current amount. On the bag was the Gringotts seal.

Mulpepper hefted it in one hand and said, “It’s got a weird smell to it.” He hit it with a quick spell, raised his eyebrows, “So it is legitimate,” and pushed the glowing ball towards Newt. He closed his briefcase and clicked it over to quarantine, pushing the ball down into the small lead-lined room and snapping it shut.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Mulpepper said, already bored. He tucked the Galleon pouch away under the counter and turned around, going back to dusting his wares.

When Newt closed the shop door behind him, he clicked over to his main compartment and shoved his arm in to the elbow, reaching for the Niffler he knew liked to hang out by the opening. “Yes, for once, I actually want you out.” He said when the creature squeaked with surprise and delight at being grabbed. “Go get my Galleons, Nifty, and be quiet about it.” Nifty stood up on both back paws and clumsily saluted, before shimmying around the shop’s back. Any attempt to summon the pouch would have it shrieking “Thief!” and welding itself to any surface, but wizards never thought much of magical creatures and Galleons were bearer bonds. If that bearer happened to be a Niffler, well, the pouch didn’t mind. Newt would feel guilty, but this odd salamander was almost certainly illegally imported no matter what Mulpepper claimed. And his funds were too thin to waste on buying black-trade creatures.

He strolled casually down Knockturn Alley, noticing that the lights had yet to come back on. In the street a woman was casting illumination spell after illumination spell, waving her wand with ever more frantic motions as they failed to produce even the shimmer of a spark. So it was not only absorbing fire, but also keeping fire from existing? “Mr. Mulpepper, what have you found,” Newt murmured to himself, turning down an alley and leaning against a wall behind a set of bins. He crouched down next to his briefcase and waited for Nifty to return. That containment charm would be breaking any moment now, but the creature was safely in fireproof quarantine and Newt would handle it as soon as his funds were secure.

Nifty didn’t disappoint, appearing only moments later dragging Newt’s pouch in his teeth. That strange scent that Mulpepper had noticed was for Nifty’s benefit; it was an entire bottle of perfume he’d soaked the pouch in so his friend could find it easier. Newt patted Nifty on the snout and tossed him a treat, a gold locket he’d meant to return but had never gotten around to. He checked the amount of Galleons in the bag with satisfaction before dumping them back into his vault and readying himself for fire. His protective spell still held, so he popped open the briefcase and jumped inside, closing it behind him with a whip of his wand.

He was very happy for the protective spell, as he dropped into a purple inferno. He could feel his hair singing and eyebrows crisping away—Merlin’s beard, he’d just grown them in, too—as the flames leapt from wall to wall. “Woah, woah! Poor thing, calm down please.” He cast Aguamenti and sent a stream of water at the worst of the fire, but it sizzled out with no effect. He tucked his wand away. “Please, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise!” The fire leapt around him and Newt got the distinct impression of being watched.

He sat down on the floor and made himself small, hoping it would help whatever creature this was feel at ease. “I don’t have a wand out.” He said, mostly just to hear his own voice. So far the fire hadn’t actively tried to hurt him, though it was making itself big to presumably scare him off. “No knives, I don’t want your tail.”

Was the fire lessening? Maybe? Newt kept talking. “I just want to see you without the fire, please. Pretty please? I bet you’re gorgeous. I bet you’re scared. I’d like to take you home, but I need to see you to figure out where that is. Won’t you please come out?”

The fire was definitely less than it had been, now bouncing more than roaring. It pinged against the walls like a child’s ball, getting a little lower each time. “That’s it,” Newt whispered, holding out one gloved hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

With a splutter the fire died, and left a little blue salamander blinking curiously up at Newt. It coughed and released some more purple fire, back glowing briefly from the heat. “Why, hello,” Newt said, delighted by its large eyes, shiny like white-hot embers. It chirped and nosed toward his hand, touching the glove and then biting his finger. The dragonhide kept him from the worst of it, but he still flinched. The salamander watched him, waiting to see his reaction. “That’s okay, let’s try not to bite though.” Newt smiled, and that made the lizard smile in return. It was the strangest thing, but… “Do you understand me?” The salamander leapt up a little as if trying to nod and Newt laughed. “Incredible. You’re not a regular variant of the salamander, are you?” Most salamanders died when removed from their flame for longer than six hours, but this one could make its own fire and even steal others’.

The salamander looked almost offended at his suggestion and scampered up his glove, little claws digging into the fireproof fabric. Newt chuckled and held out his arm to give the little guy a ledge. “You’ll need a name.” He mused, casting a fireproof spell on his scarf. “How about Sal?”

Sal stared at him in a way that made it clear it didn’t approve. “Yep, it’s Sal, at least until we get you home. Now where is home? I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to be able to read a map, hmm?”

Sal snorted sparks out of its nose and climbed up to settle into Newt’s scarf. Even through the thick fabric, Newt could feel the heat it threw off. With a flick of its tail, Sal made an arrow appear out of purple fire pointing toward the top of the quarantine room. “Yes, yes, alright, we’ll go now.”

Astonishing. He wanted to study this creature, see what it could do. But the first priority was getting it home, taking notes as he went to make sure he could write a decent entry for it in the latest edition of Fantastic Beasts. “Keep going like this and you might make the cover,” he informed Sal, who just snuffled as if to say, ‘of course I will, I’m amazing.’ Newt got them out of quarantine and Apparated to northern Finland. Immediately he was grateful for Sal’s heat, as the wind cut right through his clothes.

Sal squeaked angrily and jumped up and down. “Not right?” Newt asked sympathetically, shivering and casting a quick warming charm. The fire leapt up from the ground and formed—a statue? Yes, there was the texture of stone and everything, flickering purple in the flames. “You never cease to surprise me.” Newt muttered, holding the image of the statue in his mind and Apparating once again. This time, he found himself in the middle of a town square, in a Muggle town. Newt cast a disillusionment charm and looked up at the statue, surprised to see how accurate Sal’s image had been.

The scene was a young woman, saving a young man. Odd enough by itself, but the statue seemed to shimmer in the light. Newt pressed his fingers to the surface and the frost on it melted under his fingers, only to reform the moment he took his hand away. Definitely a magical statue, sat right in the middle of a very Muggle town. This was a mystery. “Ow!” Newt said, as Sal bit the shell of his ear gently and pulled his head around. “O.K., O.K., lead the way.”

Sal jumped down from his shoulder and snaked across the pavement, between the shoes of the villagers. Luckily they were all busy at the stalls set up around the square and none had noticed Newt Apparate in. He ducked through them, trying not to touch as it lowered the effectiveness of his Notice-Me-Not charm. Sal led him to a large dock with ships pulling in and out, and pointed his whole body toward the mouth of the harbor. There were cliffs surrounding it, and a vibrantly colored forest peeking over the edges. Newt scooped him up and took a deep breath, Apparating one last time and landing with a soft sound in the leaf litter at the top of the cliff.

“This is where you’re from, little guy?”

With a puff of smoke, Sal vanished and reappeared on the leaf-strewn ground, sneezing a tiny ball of purple fire. It turned around itself a few times before curling up and smiling, letting out a contented chirp. It then patted the ground next to it with its tail and looked up in clear invitation. Newt laughed under his breath and placed his briefcase gently on the ground, before sitting cross-legged on the scattered leaves. This forest was definitely magical; the earth underneath them thrummed with life and energy, and if he listened very closely he could almost hear the heartbeat of the land.

“So this is your home,” Newt murmured, reaching out to stroke two fingers down the creature’s spine. Purple fire flared but didn’t burn. Sal was an odd little thing for sure.

Wind whistled through the boughs, stirring the branches of the birch trees and sending more leaves cascading to the ground. Sal chirped loudly and Newt gasped when the leaf-laced wind seemed to turn and aim for the little guy, scooping it up and bouncing it up and down. At first he reached for his wand, but the wind didn’t seem to be hurting his little friend and after a moment the gust gently set it back down. Was it laughing? That strange half swallowed sound might just be laughter. Then the gust turned and swirled around and through Newt, rustling his hair. He giggled and held out a hand. “Wind magic? Charmed to meet you. Are you corporeal?” The wind shook his hand up and down, almost making him smack himself in the face. “I’ll take that as a “nice to meet you too,”” he said, grinning.

Then suddenly Sal leapt up and snaked through the dirt, leaving a trail of smoldering purple leaves behind it. It jumped up behind a tree and someone let out a sharp hiss of pain. Newt scrambled up from the ground, mentally preparing himself for yet another encounter. Was it a foe? Maybe, if his friend had attacked it.

The creature behind the tree sighed, and out stepped a … girl? Newt narrowed his eyes. Yes, that was a perfectly ordinary woman in this magical forest. Well, ordinary except for the lack of shoes. And the pure white dress that sparkled at the edges like fresh frost. And that hair. Veela? Newt patted his pockets for earplugs but didn’t find any. Blast.

“Bruni, I told you to give me some warning before you jump up like that.” She said, in a stern tone, waving a hand to create a bed of snow under Bruni on her shoulder. A frost creature! The snow melted somewhat as Bruni rolled onto its back inside it and purred. “You know you run hot.”

“So it does have a name! I wondered.”

“ _He_ does have a name, yes.” The woman raised her eyebrows. Now that she wasn’t pretending to be stern anymore, her voice really was lovely, like handbells in a church choir. Newt cleared his throat and looked away.

“Terribly sorry, don’t like to presume. Some magical creatures prefer nonbinary markers.”

“You brought him home, didn’t you?”

Newt cleared his throat again and straightened his shoulders, not quite making eye contact with her. “Yes, that I did. Bit of a … job I suppose. Cataloguing and rescuing magical creatures. This one was poached and caused a good deal of trouble before I got to him.” When she didn’t say anything, he huffed out a breath and continued, “I will never understand poachers. They never do their research and then act terribly wounded when their actions have consequences.”

“Hmm.” The woman stroked Bruni’s nose and her fingertip sizzled, but she paid it no mind.

“F-forgive me for asking,” Newt started, “but doesn’t that hurt you?”

“In the same way holding your hand too close to a candle-flame might. Bruni wouldn’t hurt me, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Bruni yawned at her, blinking his eyes sleepily. “That’s it, take a nap. You had an adventure and a half, I’m sure.”

She turned around and started walking away. Then stopped just a few steps in, as if she’d forgotten something. “I suppose you’re headed home. Unless there was something else?”

“I was wondering, er, well, not to be rude—”

“Speak freely. This forest and land owe you a debt for returning Bruni to us.”

“It’s just that I’ve never encountered a forest quite like this, and would like to make a few entries in my upcoming book about Bruni and perhaps… you?” At her narrowed eyes he tacked on, “Only if it’s not an imposition, of course.”

She turned fully to face him again, eyes alight with interest. “You write books? May I have your name?”

Newt shifted his weight from foot to foot, and opened his mouth. Then closed it and thought for a moment. “You may not have my name, that is to say, for your own use. You may call me Newt Scamander, but I do not give my name to you.”

The woman chuckled and said softly, “I’m not that type of fae, don’t worry.”

“But you are fae?” Newt asked, perhaps a bit loudly. Still, to meet one unknown to the Wizarding world! What an unexpected surprise.

“I’m… a spirit, I guess you’d call it. If you don’t mind the cold, I’ve a study you’re free to use for your writing. I’m afraid I don’t know your books, but I always appreciate writers.”

“Before we go, what’s your name? Do you have one too?” She seemed odd, and proud, and strangely regal. Newt wanted to know everything about her. It wasn’t often that he met someone as awkward as he was, after all.

“Of course I do. Forgive my lack of manners, it’s been decades since we’ve had visitors. I’m Elsa, formerly of Arendelle.”

“Elsa.” Newt repeated, going over in his mind where he’d heard that name before. Arendelle, of course, was a small kingdom that had been absorbed into Norway about a century ago, formerly along the northern shore. Their last queen had ceded the land at her death, trusting that the country was stronger united. They’d had strong trade ties with the Vikings but had no war machine to speak of, yet somehow avoided invasion after invasion by the Vikings. Newt shook his head to dislodge the historical musings and extended a hand to Elsa. “Pleased to meet you.”

Elsa blinked at his hand and he wondered if she’d ever shaken hands before, but after just a moment longer, she reached out and grasped his hand firmly. Her fingers were cold, but not shockingly so. “Nice to meet you too. Follow me, Newt.”

She led him through the birch trees, past a stream and over some rocky ledges that… snored? Newt made a note to circle back and check on that later. Elsa lived in a small ice castle that was more tower than castle, and just looking up at it made Newt’s neck hurt. The top of it gleamed with a giant ice crystal that probably acted as a beacon to those living in the forest, and Newt had to wonder how he hadn’t seen it from the harbor. “It’s hidden from the mundane world.” Elsa explained, in answer to his unspoken question. “You’re lucky you came with Bruni. People have gotten so lost here before that even I can’t find them.”

“Huh.” Newt scratched his head. “Then how was Bruni taken?”

Elsa’s expression darkened. “Let’s talk inside.” She suggested, blowing open the double doors with a wave of her hand. The walls were impressively thick and apparently pure ice. But inside the walls there was real furniture, mostly light woods and exquisitely crafted metals. The ceiling arched above them, lined with built-in bookshelves and spiral steps.

“Your home is lovely.” Newt said, breath puffing out in front of him.

“Are you cold?” Elsa asked.

“No, I’m alright,” Newt assured her, before casting a quick warming charm just on his clothes. Elsa gasped, and Newt looked around for what had surprised her. “Something wrong?”

“You have magic!”

“Um… yes. I’m a wizard.”

“You’re a what?”

“A wiz—”

“I heard you, I just can’t believe it. Humans with magic are real?” She sank down on the couch and buried her fingers in her hair. “Are you mortal?”

“Yes?” Newt sat next to her on the opposite end of the couch. “Wizards don’t really advertise their existence, because of the Statute of Secrecy, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you about us.” So he did. He answered all of her questions about the Wizarding World and explained his job, such that it was. After a time, she ran out of questions and he ran out of words. “So… yeah.”

Something nagged at him and he hesitantly asked, “Why did you ask if we were mortal? Are you… immortal?”

Elsa sighed and clutched at a pillow which she’d grabbed about halfway through Newt’s story. “I’m over two hundred years old.” She admitted, watching as his eyes just about popped through their sockets. “It’s something in the forest I think, I aged normally in town but once I came here it just stopped. This is an in-between space, or ‘liminal’ as the books call it.” She took in a breath, seeming to steel herself. “As for the reason I asked, there was someone I loved who died a long time ago. I was just wondering if your magic would have been able to save her. Or bring her back. It was silly.”

“I don’t think it was silly,” Newt admonished gently, “but I’m sorry to say our magic cannot bring back the dead. It can prolong death and there are some objects that say they will revive the dead, but it’s always a cursed half-life or other shade of the former self.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t want that, then.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Newt worked up the courage to ask, “May I ask who she was?”

“Oh. I suppose. She was my sister. The last monarch of Arendelle, Her Majesty Queen Anna.” Newt inhaled, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place. “You know of her?”

“Golden Age Queen Anna?”

Elsa smiled. “The very same. You know your history.”

“But her sister died...”

Elsa raised her eyebrows and gestured to herself as if to say, no I didn’t, I’m right here. “After a while, when it became obvious I wasn’t ageing, I withdrew from public appearances and visited my family only in secret. It was easier than trying to explain to our people.”

“Is it true she ceded Arendelle’s lands to Norway right before her death?”

“Yes, it was her decision. Her children weren’t interested in ruling, and isolationism wasn’t working in this new Industrial Age taking over the rest of the world.”

“Do you mind if I ask how she became queen if you were still alive? Did you abdicate?” Newt pulled some parchment and a quill out of his bag.

So Elsa took her turn and told her story, from the discovery of the enchanted forest to the treachery of her grandfather, culminating in a tidal wave that very nearly wiped out Arendelle. She’d volunteered to return to the forest and act as one half of a bridge to the spirit world, in essence becoming a guardian of the magic within this place. She finished by explaining how panicked she’d been on discovering Bruni’s disappearance, and how she suspected a charmed object or some other Dark magic was involved. She was just happy to have him home, though.

“That’s fascinating.” Newt looked down at his notes and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind if I publish some of this in my new book. I can scrub it of personal details if you prefer, but the story is incredible and your magic—” he gestured toward the ceilings, “—speaks for itself, honestly.”

“I don’t mind.” Elsa said, standing up and stretching. “There’s no one left alive who remembers things as they were, so you can even frame it as fictional if you prefer.” She cracked her neck and then looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you tired? Hungry? I don’t usually partake myself, but there is a tribe that lives here and they make excellent food.”

“I’m fine.” Newt said, surprised to find it true. Despite the sun setting through the trees now, he felt no discomfort. “May I please stay a bit longer to catalogue Bruni? I promise not to impose for too long.”

“Be my guest,” Elsa said, smiling. “It’s been ages since I’ve had any visitors at all, let alone polite ones. Just don’t stay too long or you might forget where you came from. This forest tends to keep what it likes.”

“Duly noted.” Newt found a desk pressed against the wall and laid out some fresh parchment, whistling under his breath as he drew Bruni for his records. He was absent, having wandered off sometime into Elsa’s story, but Newt had a good memory and thought he made a fair likeness of the little fire spirit.

When he was finished the sun had fully set, but the trees and palace sparkled in the moonlight. It was with mixed feelings that Newt said his goodbyes and Apparated back to Diagon Alley, where the lights were back on and no one could stop talking about the strange blackout. Newt just smiled and kept his own counsel.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I have no plans to continue this at this time.
> 
> The talented @silverangora on Tumblr was also inspired by this great prompt to make art, and gave me permission to share it with you:
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day.


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